


all that you do

by aac7



Series: friends being a headache [8]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Blue Lion Shenanigans, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), and sylvain is gonna profit over it, buckle up friends we're going to watch felix be confused
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 08:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30136530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aac7/pseuds/aac7
Summary: Felix had always been interested in Byleth. Not in the way Sylvain was, obviously....Not at first._____A series of moments between Byleth and Felix, from their first meeting to their first kiss.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/My Unit | Byleth
Series: friends being a headache [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1958674
Comments: 7
Kudos: 56





	all that you do

**Author's Note:**

> wow i love these two sword wielding idiots so much

Felix had always been interested in Byleth. Not in the way Sylvain was, obviously. 

When he heard that she’d first set foot in the monastery, he’d simply been curious about her. The daughter of the Blade Breaker, the strongest knight who’d ever lived and the leader of an elite mercenary group. 

Who wouldn’t have been curious?

The board hadn’t given them much to go off of. He, Claude, and Edelgard had been in trouble, but they’d been lucky enough to run into a band of mercenaries in Remire. One of them — the young woman — had led the charge against the bandits and saved the Imperial princess. 

_Unwavering confidence,_ the prince had told them. _She’s also quite skilled with a sword._

So she was strong, but was she technical? Did she truly prefer the sword, like him? Or was it a weapon grabbed at convenience— snatched in a hasty effort to save the boar and the other two lords? 

His curiosity ate at him, and he pieced together a rough image of her from the snippets of the tale the other two house leaders had told their housemates. 

From Hilda and Claude’s loud blabberings at lunch, he’d overheard the Alliance heir recall the eerie stillness of her face. Which is normal, he thinks. As a mercenary, routing bandits should be fairly routine for her, so it’s unsurprising that she’d be desensitized by now. 

From Edelgard and Hubert’s hushed conversation, he overhears the princess tell her vassal that the girl didn’t know her father was the former captain of the Knights of Seiros, and didn’t even seem to know what the Knights or the Church were. That was less normal. For someone to grow up in Fódlan and not be familiar with the teachings of Seiros? 

When he heard she’d be coming around to talk to the students, his curiosity, along with Ingrid and Sylvain’s, had piqued. 

The first time he saw her though, he’d bit back a laugh. 

There was absolutely _no way_ that this was the fearsome woman he’d heard of. No, this was a _girl._

A fact that Sylvain was more than aware of. 

“Damn,” the redhead whistles beside him, earning a jab in the side from Ingrid as they watch her speak with a bumbling Annette. “Is that what all lady mercenaries look like these days?” 

“She looks so...normal,” Ingrid murmurs, green eyes following her around the room. 

She certainly didn’t _look_ like she’d been raised by mercenaries. He’d expected someone taller, with a domineering physique akin to her father’s. He didn’t expect a girl of average height strutting around in lacy tights, nonsensical armour, and an unreasonably long coat.

However ridiculous she looked, she did _carry_ herself like a mercenary. There was a quiet air of confidence that followed her around the room. She was small, but she walked like she was ten feet tall.

As soon as she walks away from Annette, Sylvain is quick to pounce, offering up a flourished bow as he introduces himself. Felix expects her to blush, as most girls would, but her face remains impassive, almost bored. She blinks at him a few times, without even a twitch of the lips as Sylvain kisses the back of her hand. There’s just...nothing. If anything, Sylvain is the one phased by her reaction— or lack thereof, his mouth agape as he watches her stalk towards them. 

“Hello. I’m Byleth Eisner.” Her greeting is flat, devoid of any emotion. Even as Ingrid had prattled on and thanked her on behalf of the Kingdom, she’d simply nodded at her, then turned to Felix. 

If she was expecting a thank you, she wouldn’t be getting one from him. 

“He said you’re quite skilled,” he says instead, jutting his chin towards the open door. “And he doesn’t just say things like that. I look forward to sparring with you and beating you.” 

Ingrid, of course, chides him, but the girl in front of him doesn’t at all look displeased. In fact, her brow twitches upwards a fraction of an inch, and something tells him that she finds his spiel amusing. 

“I see,” she nods, hands clasped behind her back. “I look forward to seeing you try.”

  
  
  


“They’d look good together, don’t you think?” Sylvain chuckles, nodding his head to where Felix and the lady mercenary stand. “Semi-permanent looks of contempt, an air of nihilism, long blue hair. It’s a match made in heaven. You think their kids would be born with scowls and pretty hair?”

“Don’t let Felix hear you say that,” Ingrid sighs, though she can’t help but agree. It’s almost like a scene ripped from one of her childhood story books— a striking lady knight carrying an aura of stoicism intermingled with beauty, standing amidst a gruesome battle alongside her king.

Only in this time, she stands at the side of a future duke.

**__________**

In a way, Felix sort of ends up getting what he wants. 

It’d gone by in a blur. One second she was parrying his blows with surprising strength, and the next she’d kicked his right leg out from under him and he’d landed face first in the sand. 

He’s stunned by the move, and as she removes the blunt end of her training sword from the back of his neck, his shock quickly blazes into a combination of red hot embarrassment and anger as he scrambles to his feet. 

She fought dirty, and for some reason he hadn’t expected it. 

But...he was into it.

He would never admit that though, and scowls as she leisurely circles around him. Her posture is infuriatingly relaxed, even when he charges her again.

At the last second, she side-steps each of his swings, maneuvering around the wooden blade of his sword with an ease that makes his temples throb. She strikes his side with her elbow when he ends up overextending his jab, and it’s with enough force that it forces him to stumble back and allow himself a recovering breath. 

She doesn’t let up, and it surprises him when her sword smacks him in the abdomen, delivers a swift kick to the back of his leg, laying him out onto the ground once more. 

Before he can get up, her sword is under his chin and she’s staring down at him rather impassively, mouth pressed into a straight line. She doesn’t gloat, doesn’t chuckle or even crack a small smile at her victory. She simply removes the sword and clasps her hands behind her back again, turning back to address his classmates. Felix can’t make out what she’s saying over the ringing in his ears, but can guess what she’s telling them.

Had this been an actual combat scenario, he would have been dead. So easily killed by this wolf in sheep’s clothing.

She offers him a hand, but he ignores it in favour of staggering unsteadily to his feet, annoyance flaring when he hears Sylvain’s unmistakable laughter. 

He demands to go for a third round, but she dismisses him and calls on Dimitri, who appears to be biting back a smile as he passes Felix. 

Felix hated it, loathed to admit it, but the boar was right. 

She was skilled, and he’d grossly misjudged her.

  
  
  


“Everyone put twenty gold in the pouch. Ashe— I’m watching those sneaky little hands!” 

“What in Sothis’ name are you doing, Sylvain?” Ingrid questions, though she isn’t sure she wants to know the answer. She hopes there’s some reasonable explanation as to why Sylvain is parading around the training grounds collecting their classmate’s allowance.

“Betting pool,” Sylvain grins, shaking the hefty pouch in his hands. “We’re making bets on how long it’ll take for Felix to realize that our new professor is his dream woman. You in?”

“Absolutely.”

**__________**

It’s late when she enters the training grounds, sunset streaming into the dimly lit room. Felix pretends not to notice as she sits at the edge of the grounds, watching him.

He forces himself to focus on the motions of the training sequence she’d taught him— she was a surprisingly adept teacher, not that he’d ever admit it. He swings his blade around, slicing through the air where his opponent’s neck would be.

Chest heaving, the hairs on the back of his neck rise as he hears her footsteps approach. 

“Well done, Felix,” the Professor says mildly.

“I can do better,” he sniffed, irritated for some reason. “Did you need something?”

They were two months into the school year, and yet his brash tone never phased her. “Here.” 

She presses something into his hand, but Felix refuses to close his fingers around it, letting it sit in his palm.

“What is this for?” He demands, thrusting it back towards her. “It’s not my birthday.”

She tilts her head, a common gesture he’d seen whenever Annette rambled through any kind of confusing explanation in class. “I know.”

Felix continues to hold the dagger out, away from his person. “Then...why are you giving it to me?” 

“It’s a reward,” she said simply, not moving to take it back. 

_A reward._ Yes, he’d heard of such instances from his classmates before. A new clip in Annette’s hair, a board game in Sylvain’s room, new riding boots on Ingrid’s feet. All courtesy of their professor.

“You don’t need to accept it,” she said quickly, almost sounding flustered. “I just...you’ve been working hard lately.”

“Oh,” he says, suddenly feeling very awkward. He slides the dagger out of it’s leather sheath to study it. A light, steel blade with a sturdy bone dyed handle. It’s well-forged, with no signs of warping or amateur craftsmanship. Something like this was likely worth a decent sum of gold, and she’d bought it _for him._ To reward him. 

“This is nice,” he affirms. “...Thank you, Professor.”

She nods once, and that was the end of that. One of her redeeming qualities was that she went straight to the point, and that would be that. No wasted time on idle conversation or otherwise, just how Felix liked it.

Which is why it was odd that he found himself calling out to her as she turned to walk away. “Wait! I— You can…” He didn’t usually stumble over his words like this, but there was something about her that was so… unexplainable. 

He sighed, recomposing himself and trying again. “I want you to train with me. You’re a...worthy adversary.”

A ghost of a smile passes over her lips. “Okay. Let’s spar.”

Right to the point. 

That...was good enough for him.

  
  
  


“A worthy adversary?” Sylvain laughs as he and the prince sneak out of the training grounds. “That’s basically Felix’s equivalent of ‘babe.’ I should really lecture him on appropriate terms of endearment.”

“I would have to advise you against that,” Dimitri grimaces. “Felix’s opinion is not so easily swayed.”

Oh, Sylvain knows that well enough. “Be that as it may, I think he could afford a lesson or two on the art of seduction.” 

**__________**

_“Felix, can I come in?”_

“Yeah, it’s open,” he mutters, pulling off his boots and chucking them across the room. Resolute as he’d always been in his dislike for his father, his body and mind felt...heavy today. He wouldn’t go as far as to say it was regret, but it was something.

The Professor steps into his room, carrying a crate bound in teal-dyed cloth. “Do you have a minute?”

“Sure, whatever,” he sighs, unbuttoning the topmost buttons of his shirt, as if it would relieve the emotional pressure sitting heavy on his chest. He doesn’t feel any better, and now his shirt hangs open while his _professor_ stands in his room.

She doesn’t seem bothered by his disheveled appearance, but she looks awkward, a touch unsure as she shifts the crate in her hands. “Your father gave this to me. To give to you.”

“I don’t want it,” he refuses immediately.

“You don’t even know what it is.”

“I don’t care.”

“Well,” she carefully sets the crate down on his desk. “I suppose that’s your choice. I won’t force you.” She flips the fabric back, and something ugly curls in Felix’s stomach when he sees what’s inside. 

The Aegis Shield.

“I _don’t_ want it,” he repeats, turning away to glare at the wall. Picking up his family’s Relic meant he was picking up where his brother left off, even if defense was decidedly the last line Felix would fight on. It was as if that stubborn old man of his still thought that _he_ could still live up to their ridiculous family title. 

It angered him to even think about. How his house would first and foremost be known for its willfulness to serve the Crown. How every skill he acquired, every combat art, and gambit was meant to serve _someone else._ To keep someone else alive. 

Ultimately, he’s mad because despite the chilled distance between himself and his father, he _still_ feels like he has something to prove. Or maybe disprove, Felix didn’t really know yet. 

“It wasn’t meant for me,” he tells her, still feeling rather bitter. His eyes drift to the black iron spur sitting on his desk, right next to the crate.

Part of him expects her to be like everyone else. To tell him that he should pick up the shield and honour his brother and father, because it was his _duty._

He hadn’t even spoken the word aloud, but it still put an awful taste in his mouth.

“It’s just a shield,” his professor says instead, an edge of unexpected softness in her voice. He lifts his eyes to meet her stoic gaze, those eyes indicating that she knew more about its history than she let on. He wondered what exactly his father had told her. That his brother had been the last to wield it, and that he had _died like a true knight?_

Her hand brushes over the hilt of the Sword of the Creator strapped to her hip. “I won’t pretend to understand your personal feelings about it...but if the day comes that you decide to pick it up, I hope you know that only _you_ can choose that which you protect. I truly don’t think that—” she pauses, though they both know what she was going to say. “I don’t think that _anyone_ truly wishes to force anything from you.”

The Professor leaves immediately after, telling him to get some rest as she shuts the door behind her.

He walks over to his desk, staring down at the age-old Relic. It glows slightly as he strokes the bony ridge with his fingertips, catching a thin layer of dust. It’d been one of the few remains of Glenn that had been sent home four years ago, and it’d done nothing but sit in his father’s study since.

“Just a shield,” Felix mutters. What did she know? She couldn’t possibly understand.

But he thinks of the Sword of the Creator, and how the ancient sword of legend had literally been thrust into her hands. He thinks of how she might feel, carrying the weight of an entire religion on her hip.

Maybe she understood more than he thought.

  
  
  


“Your Highness, l _swear_ I saw a girl go into Felix’s room. Do you think he’s hooking up with someone? Why wouldn’t he tell me?”

The prince doesn’t open his door any wider, instead sighing exasperatedly. “I highly doubt that, Sylvain. Felix is not the type to partake in any such rendezvous.”

“You never know. I mean—” He freezes when Felix’s door opens, hand smacking the prince’s doorway as someone walks out. Dimitri, confused as to what has Sylvain so baffled, finally steps out of his room to get a better look. The back of his hand smacks Sylvain in the chest so hard that it momentarily knocks the wind out of him.

“It’s late,” is all their Professor says. “You two should be in bed.”

**__________**

Annette. Mercedes. Flayn. Sylvain. 

Four perfectly valid options. Four perfectly capable individuals. Four perfectly willing participants.

Yet _none_ of his perfectly valid, capable, or willing classmates had been chosen for this particularly daunting task. 

No, she’d chosen Felix to represent the Blue Lion house at the White Heron Cup.

Even after he’d told her, with perfect clarity, that he’d sooner pull teeth than waltz around the dance floor. She’d simply nodded in acknowledgement before proceeding to list him as their class’ participant. 

“Again,” she sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose with her knuckles. 

Felix expels a harsh breath through his nose, forcing his feet to retrace the same pattern they’d been following for the past two hours. His arms were getting heavy, and his back was sore from holding his form.

Her brows narrow as she watches him drag his feet to a stop, his arms dropping to his sides.

“Again,” she repeats.

Frowning deeply in an attempt not to scowl, Felix raises his aching arms once more, straightens his back, and holds his chin up high, performing each step with textbook perfection. Just as he has been for the last hour.

He looks at her once more, his gaze _just_ shy of pleading. It’s late in the afternoon, and he’d much rather be in the training grounds than in the grass of the courtyard. 

“Again.”

“I’ve been doing it just as you taught me— _one, two, three, four,”_ he snaps, demonstrating the flawless combination once more to humour her. 

He supposed it wouldn’t do well to antagonize her, as she’d proven herself nothing but competent in the short amount of time he’d known her. He was just so _tired._ Fed up. Sick of dancing and hearing Sylvain and Ingrid’s amused snorts. 

Her mouth set in a hard line, she uncrosses her legs and hops off the bench she’s perched upon. “How do you feel?” She asks, circling him slowly, the way a predator would before pouncing upon its prey.

“I feel like an idiot.”

She chuckles at that. Very slightly. 

“Do you know why I asked you to participate?”

 _Forced,_ Felix mentally corrects. “Because you want me to embarrass myself in front of the entire student body?”

She actually rolls her eyes at him. He’d only ever seen her do that to Sylvain, and it bothered him. “Because you dance like you fight. Rigid and fixed. You need to loosen up a little.”

“Why?” A fixed posture meant a strong swing. A strong swing took opponents out before they could get too close. 

“Dancing and swordsmanship require equal amounts of fluidity. You’re the only swordsman in our class, so I really think you can benefit from this.”

His attitude falters at the mention of swordsmanship. “How?” 

“Recalling your footwork and depending on strength alone won’t save your life on the battlefield,” she explains, as if she’d read his mind. “What if your opponent is just as well versed in footwork and technique as you are? They’d be able to find the holes in your defense like this,” she says, snapping her fingers. “You can’t give them the chance. Flexibility and fluidity take your offense to new levels. I suggest you spar with Dorothea sometime. You’ll understand.”

“Dorothea?” Felix’s mouth twists at the mention of the flirty student from the Black Eagle house. He doesn’t ever recall seeing her pick up a sword in his presence. How could he ever learn something from someone like her? 

The Professor doesn’t seem to understand his confusion. “Strength isn’t always measured by brute force. It’s unpredictability and versatility. Your ability to not just react, but _respond._ Good swordsmen don’t brave storms, Felix. We are the storm.”

Reluctant as he may be to admit it, there had to be some validity to her words. She was skilled, wielding an undeniable strength and grace that surpassed that of the Knights of Seiros, or any other weapons instructor he’d come across. He’d be a fool not to take her advice and see this opportunity for what it was.

A chance to better himself.

He rolls his shoulders a few times, shaking out his limbs. “Teach me how to be a storm.”

  
  
  


“You know, Professor. I think what Felix really needs to take this to the next level is a _partner_ to dance with.” 

The Professor looks over her shoulder, just in time to catch the wink Sylvain throws in her direction. “I couldn’t agree more.”

This was _too_ perfect. “That money is mine, Ingrid,” he whispers. The amount of flowers he could buy for future dates...

“Felix, Sylvain will act as your partner this time around.”

“What? That isn’t what I meant! Professor!”

**__________**

_“I am filled with grief at the loss of our most celebrated knight. He laid down his life in service of the Church of Seiros, and in doing so saved the lives of many students. An honourable end to one of the most decorated knights in our history.”_

Honourable. 

During the funeral, Felix had bitten back a scoff as Rhea had spoken, listing off all of Captain Jeralt’s accolades as if it were a damn toast.

There was no honour in dying. No glory in laying down one’s life. Besides, Jeralt hadn’t thrown himself in the line of fire or taken a sword to the gut in protection of a student. He’d quite literally been stabbed in the back in the aftermath of the battle. 

In the pew across from him, he’d caught Dimitri grimacing, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. 

He could, for once in his life, appreciate the fact that they shared similar sentiments on this sort of thing. Death was not something to be worshipped or praised. Death was death, and no matter how many candles they lit or prayers to the goddess they offered, there was nothing they could do to change that. 

After the funeral, Felix keeps a respectful distance. His classmates take turns offering their professor kind words and some even go as far as engulfing her in comforting hugs. 

But there are no words that can soften the emotional blow of losing someone you love. No hug is satisfactory enough to distract from the physical pain that weighs heavy within the hearts of those that are left behind.

He’d felt that way at his brother’s funeral. 

She doesn’t come to class the following Monday, and their class ends up merging with the Golden Deer to study under Hanneman. The Crest scholar is a skilled mage, but his training sessions didn’t hold a candle to Professor Byleth’s. 

He tries not to be disappointed when Manuela ushers them into her classroom the day after. The former opera star was a skilled healer, but she talked far too much about her personal life, and wasn’t nearly as versed in battlefield tactics.

Now more than ever, he’d realized that his professor’s guidance was irreplaceable. The Blue Lions had come out victorious in every tournament since the beginning of the year, their progress far beyond that of their rivals.

Felix stays late at the training grounds that night. It’s not just because he requires the extra training in their professor’s absence, but because evenings are when the grounds are sparse. The perfect time to practice the moves specific to his new dancer certification. 

It’s raining when he decides to head back, thick drops pelting the roofs of the monastery and offering a constant, lulling distraction from the mournful silence that had existed since they’d returned from the chapel.

Felix blinks rainwater out of his eyes, frowning as he trudges through puddles that soak through his boots. He pushes his waterlogged bangs aside, deciding to take shelter underneath the first floor awnings. 

He almost doesn’t see the Professor as he walks up the stairs by her room. Pausing with his foot on the step, he peers down at her through the buckets of water. She’s hunched over on the top step, clothes drenched and clinging to her like she’d returned from a swim in the Airmid. 

“What are you doing out here? Are you trying to catch a cold?” He questions, wincing when he hears how sharp and accusatory he sounds. 

When she looks up at him, Felix can tell that she hasn’t been sleeping. There are dark, heavy circles underlining tired eyes, a familiar result of restless nights. 

“Manuela said that the smell of rain produces a calming effect in the body,” she mutters, hugging her arms. Her voice trembles, and Felix attributes it to the chill of wet clothes. “Something about the chemicals released by soil-dwelling bacteria and oils in plants, I don’t know.”

So logically, she’d decided to sit out in the rain rather than crack open a window. “Do you...feel calmer?”

She shakes her head. “No."

Felix just nods, almost looking away when he spots a glassy shine in her eyes, as if she were about to cry. She caught herself before she did though, turning away. 

There’s nothing he can say to her, no words that could offer to soothe the ache she so clearly felt. He knew he couldn’t just leave her alone, so Felix sits beside her at his own initiative. She fixes a distant gaze on the wet cobblestone before them, saying nothing.

It’s Felix who breaks the silence.

“Glenn...used to sit with me when I was upset,” he says quietly, his voice sounding like a whisper against the rain. “Whether I was fighting with Dimitri or had gotten in trouble with my father, he always made me talk things out with him.” 

Felix could recall those nights with near perfect clarity. Glenn, sitting on the edge of his bed and coaxing him until everything, all thoughts and words, came tumbling out. His brother would simply listen, letting him talk until all corners of his mind had been cleared. He would always feel so light afterwards, ready to compromise or make amends.

She pulls her knees into her chest, setting her chin atop them. “Why?” 

“So that I wouldn’t be left fuming or act out and do something dumb, I guess. He knew I needed a nudge in the right direction sometimes,” he shrugs. “It used to annoy the hell out of me.” How could it not have? Twelve year-old boys _did not_ enjoy talking about their feelings. “But looking back...it always helped. Talking to someone _helps._ ” In the end, he would always make up with Dimitri, or apologize to his father.

Now though...

“He sounds like a good brother,” she murmurs, and Felix is suddenly all too aware of the hole in his heart. 

Tears prick the corners of his eyes, proof of a sibling who’d been well-loved and was sorely missed. “He was.”

Her eyes glaze over again, but this time she does nothing to stop it, letting her tears intermingle with the rain dripping down her face.

“How has the rest of the class been?” She asks, sweeping at her cheeks with the heel of her hand. It astounds him that even in her own grief, she still has the well-being of her students in mind.

“We’re managing,” he lies, as if Sylvain hadn’t almost burned down the classroom with an experimental fire spell and Annette hadn’t almost taken Ashe’s head off with an axe. She was the glue that held them together and ultimately kept them all alive. They needed her more than they knew. “I— Uh, _we_ miss you.”

The corners of her lips curl upwards in the slightest, and Felix feels as if he’s won a prize. “Then I suppose I should turn in for the night. I wouldn’t be against a training session before class, if you’re up for it.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” he says quickly, even as excitement begins building in his chest. _She’s coming back._

“I want to,” she affirms, rising to her feet. “I’ll meet you at the seventh bell, Felix.”

She’s already turning around, reaching for her doorknob when Felix opens his stupid mouth and calls out to her. “Professor...thank you. I appreciate all that you do for me. For us.”

Her smile is weak and weary, half-hearted at best, but there. “I know.”

**__________**

“You can’t just throw your sword at an enemy that’s out of range, Felix. That’s highly impractical.”

“I don’t care. I don’t need to learn anymore magic,” he huffs, sliding the tome across the table. 

The professor uses a finger to slide it back towards him. “Yes, you do.”

“I came here to hone my blade, not make sparks fly from my fingertips.” He’d rather focus on his sword rather than divide his focus on something as unreliable as magic. It sapped his energy and required greater focus on the battlefield, and Felix did not have time for that. She’d already forced the entire class into a faith magic seminar with Manuela.

“You need to be able to fight out of range too,” she argues, sweeping her new, pale green hair over her shoulder. “I know that you can use a bow, but what happens if you run out of arrows?”

“Then I die.”

“If you _ever_ die on the battlefield due to your inane stubbornness, I’ll rewind time and kill you myself,” she said, sounding absolutely serious.

“No one can turn back time, Professor.” Felix snickers, though there’s something about the mild shrug and nervous tug on her collar that almost has him believing otherwise.

“I’m not asking you to be the best,” she starts, and Felix wonders if she actually knew _anything_ about him. “But a swordsman who understands magic has a distinct advantage over one that does not. Don’t you remember our last spar? When I dropped lightning on you because you were lingering outside my reach?”

“I remember,” he snaps, teeth gritting at the memory of his most recent loss. “Fine, if you want me to learn reason magic I will. But only so that I can drop lightning on _you_ next time.”

“Good. I’ll have Annette give you a few pointers on proper spellcasting,” she nods, making a note in her journal. “Keep working on your faith magic as well. Annette, Mercedes, and myself can’t be everywhere at once. You need to have each other’s backs.”

“You swear learning all this magic will make me a better swordsman?” 

“Well, Yuri is quite proficient with both magic and a sword. You’ve never beaten him either.”

Ah, _of course_ she’d compare him to the likes of that conniving lord of the underground. Something about it rubbed him the wrong way. “I don’t need to be reminded. I’ll study up on magic so that I can beat the both of you.”

Felix had been training all year with the hopes of someday besting her on the training grounds. If he needed to learn magic to do so before graduation, he would. 

He would never truly feel he deserved to graduate unless he beat her at least _once._

“If that’s the motivation you need, so be it,” she laughs, and Felix wonders if his ears are playing tricks on him, because the professor doesn’t _laugh._ She snickers and chuckles, but never something so robust and wonderful. She even graces him with one of her vanishingly rare smiles, the combination proving too much for Felix’s walled-off heart.

Feeling his cheeks begin to warm, Felix turns away, reevaluating all his life choices. “I’m going to go find Annette. After your ceremony at the Holy Tomb, let’s spar again. I look forward to beating you.”

  
  
  


“Sylvain, I need to ask you something.”

Oh, he’d been _waiting_ for this day. He’d been waiting ever since Felix was twelve and just figuring out what a crush was. It’d taken six years and some, but the day had _finally_ come. “You don’t even have to ask, of course I’ll teach you how to kiss.”

Felix makes an absolutely horrified expression, and words cannot describe how glad Sylvain is that he isn’t currently carrying a sword. “That is _not_ — I would never ask you for help with that!”

“So you already know how to kiss? Who taught you? Don’t say Dimitri. _Do not_ say Dimitri.”

“Tch, as if. I’ve read books.”

Goddess, was he suddenly talking to Ashe? “Unless you’ve been reading porn on paper, I don’t wanna know what your books have taught you.” 

“Can you shut your mouth for two seconds to let me ask—”

“Ask me how to seduce a woman? Oh, I can help you with that for sure.”

Felix’s mouth twists into a grimace. “You know what, forget it.”

“No, Felix! Come on, I’m sorry— Ow! I’m sorry!” 

**__________**

When the continent is at war, the days quickly begin to meld together. There are no celebratory dinners in honour of Saint Cethleann, or choir festivals to celebrate Saint Seiros. The only real dates of importance are days that supplies are meant to arrive, or a march to the front is meant to commence. Those were the only dates that Felix paid attention to anyways.

So when Sylvain arrives on his doorstep one particularly chilly morning, Felix really has no idea why. 

“The Millennium Festival is in a week,” he explains, sounding just as haggard and exhausted as Felix feels. “I thought that we could pick up Ingrid on our way to the monastery.”

Right. The Millennium Festival. Five years to the day a silly promise had been made by a man who may as well be dead. 

Still, Felix saddles his horse and prepares to ride south with Sylvain. It’d been a year since he’d last been lectured by Ingrid. Two years since he’d heard one of Annette’s ridiculous songs. Three since he’d spoken with Ashe. Probably four since he’d seen Mercedes. 

It’d been five years since he’d seen his professor. She’d been declared missing soon after the Empire had attacked the monastery, and as the years went on without a single sighting of the goddess incarnate, it made sense to presume she was killed in action.

There was a little, very small part of him that had always _hoped_ that wasn’t the case. That she was wandering throughout Fódlan in search of the prince, or maybe plotting to assassinate the emperor herself.

_Good swordsmen don’t brave storms, Felix. We are the storm._

Byleth is a storm. She’s the thick, grey-black clouds that shrouded the sky. The currents of wind that threatened to uproot bushes and trees. The wicked bolts of lightning that split the heavens. A force of freaking nature.

She _had_ to have survived.

He supposed there was no harm in travelling back to the place he’d last been truly content, if it meant he _would_ see her again. She swore to reunite with them, and though his professor was many things, she was not a liar.

So when Felix sees her cutting down bandits in those lacy black tights, his heart stops beating for a full second. He doesn’t spare the boar a second glance, because once is all his eyes can handle when it comes to that mess. 

_She’s alive._

The splintered remnants of their class reconvene in the dilapidated monastery, cheerful chatter filling the hollow cathedral once the boar stalks away.

Annette is the first to throw her arms around their found professor, tears already rolling down her cheeks. “I always knew in my heart we’d meet again,” she sobs into the professor’s dirtied cloak.

Byleth hesitates, confusion flashing across her face before carefully - awkwardly - reciprocating the hug and patting the head of bright hair.

Annette is only the first, and the moment she’s released, Mercedes takes her place. Then it’s Ashe, thanking her for keeping her promise. Of course there’s Sylvain, wrapping his lanky arms around her and telling her how pretty she is, even if her hair is a mess and her white cloak is filthy. Even Ingrid abandons all discretion, wrapping her in a tight hug and thanking her for returning.

All the while, Felix chooses to linger on the outskirts of all the merriment. Missed as she had been, they shouldn’t be invading her personal space. 

But then Sylvain ushers her over to where Felix stands, giving her a gentle nudge. 

“Come on, Felix. We all know you missed her the most.”

Had he not been using Byleth as a human shield, Felix would have punched him.

...But his annoyance fizzles away when Byleth blinks up at him through her lashes, lips curling into a small smile. “You look well, Felix.”

All at once, the grief he’d pushed down these last five years washes over him. He’d only realized during the war how much he’d missed her company. Not just as his greatest rival or most competent instructor, but as his _friend._

Wordlessly, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close. Byleth initially stiffened against him, but as Felix lowered his head onto her shoulder, he felt her relax, snaking her arms around his torso and squeezing tightly.

Felix was not one for embraces. He didn’t like being touched or touching others for purposes that were not battle related. His hands were made for blades, blood, and battle. His hands, rough and calloused from years of non-stop fighting, were not not made for gentle caresses and supportive touches. 

Yet his eyes drift shut as he holds her tighter, his hands grasping fistfuls of her dirty cloak. There was something about this hug that just felt _right._ It was in her warm embrace that he felt his worries about the war and the boar and his father lose their sharp sting, and his optimism finally rose its head from the dirt. 

Because she was here.

  
  
  


“Did anyone have ‘five years’ as their bet?”

“Not me,” Ingrid grimaces, eying the pouch that Sylvain had saved all these years. The amount of kebabs she could buy with that gold…

“Let’s start a new pool,” Ashe suggests. “We should probably change things around a bit. First kiss?”

“Put me down for two months,” Annette giggles. “Did you see the way he hugged her?”

“We all saw it,” Sylvain snickers. “She’s been it for him for a while. Now that she’s back...who knows how long it’ll take for us to make bets on how long it’ll take him to propose.”

**__________**

“You’re an idiot.”

Byleth’s gaze turns sharp. “And you’re a dumbass. I had that!”

“That thing on your forehead says otherwise,” Felix scoffs, pointing at the angry red welt decorating her temple. A brawler had caught her off guard, catching her with the edge of a silver gauntlet. She’d been knocked out cold when he decided to jump in. “You probably have a concussion.”

“I do not have a concussion,” she argues, because apparently she’s intent on fighting him on _everything_ today.

“Yeah? How many arrows did you fire?”

“Three.”

 _Caught her._ “You emptied your quiver.”

Incredulous, Byleth reaches over her shoulder and glares at the arrowless quiver, huffing like a stubborn pegasus. “Whatever. I just lost track.”

“...Because you have a concussion.”

“I do not have a concussion!” She snaps, scaring a nearby flock of birds. Felix says nothing, but notes the way she winces and rubs at her forehead, eyes squinting even under the dwindling supply of daylight. She definitely had a concussion. “How far are we from the monastery?”

“Too far,” Felix reports. “We tracked that bandit camp way out of the safe zone. I don’t know if we’ll make it back by nightfall.” He averts his gaze to the darkening sky, grimacing at the sight of storm clouds. “And I think it’s going to rain.”

“No shit.”

Felix watched her out of the corner of his eye. “Why are you being so pissy?” 

Clearly that had been the wrong question to ask, and he regretted it sorely. “Jeez, I don’t know, Felix. It’s kind of hard to pick one reason!” She was waving her hands frantically as they walked. “We’re miles away from the monastery in the middle of nowhere, we almost got our asses kicked by bandits, we’re about to get rained on, and my head is killing me.” He barely opens his mouth when she whips around, finger pointed under his nose. “ _Not_ because I have a concussion.”

She turns on her heel and is about to walk away when Felix grabs her arm. There’s murder in her eyes as he turns her around, facing her in the right direction. 

“We passed a small village a little while ago,” he says to her back, as she didn’t seem keen on letting him catch up. “We could find an inn for the night.” 

“Fine,” she grumbles, and he’s just glad they’d found something to agree with. 

About half an hour into their trek, Felix notices a slight stagger in her step. It’s obviously not due to the concussion that she didn’t have. 

“We’re almost there,” he assures her, pointing to a nearby stalk of smoke. “Think you can handle a few more minutes?”

“Don’t chastise me.”

Felix presses his mouth into a flat line, exhaling through his nose. “And you call me the stubborn one.”

Attributing her lack of retort to exhaustion, Felix chooses to enjoy the silence as they continue pushing through the thick woods. If the sun were visible, he was sure it’d be setting by now.

He damn near kisses the ground when they finally stumble across the village on the outskirts of the monastery. They arrive just in time, as a light shower of rain begins drizzling down on the earth. 

If an injured, lost, and concussed Byleth was cranky, he didn’t want to know what an injured, lost, concussed, and soaked Byleth would be like. 

He steers them into the nearest inn, tossing some gold onto the counter and requesting a room and a meal. The innkeeper swaps out the gold for a key, telling him their meals will be delivered shortly. 

Byleth sways slightly on her feet as she follows him down the hall, prompting Felix to jam the key into the door, leaning heavily on it until it swings open.

The room was a simple guest room, sparsely decorated save for the necessities. There’s an unlit fireplace, a small dresser, a rickety looking desk and chair, a plain wooden nightstand, and a bed—

 _A_ bed.

Singular.

Felix is suddenly the one swaying on his feet, feeling as if he may vomit. He hadn’t thought to request more than one. He’d stayed at many inn’s during his travels with Sylvain and Ingrid, and they’d never had to request more than one bed.

Unless...the innkeeper thought...

Byleth doesn’t seem to care, pushing past him and dropping down onto the off-white sheets with a sigh, tossing a small ball of fire into the hearth of the fireplace.

Felix watches, momentarily intrigued by the soft glow of the firelight dancing across her face. She looks...softer.

As if feeling the heat of his gaze, Byleth’s eyes flick to his, drifting down his body in a way that makes him feel self-conscious. “You’re hurt,” she says flatly, pointing to his arm. 

“Oh, right,” he remembers, glancing down at his bloodied sleeve. He’d been skimmed with an axe earlier, and in their haste to get back, he hadn’t had time to patch it up.

Taking a seat on the opposite side of the bed - _a bed they would have to share -_ Felix slowly rolls up his sleeve to examine the cut on his forearm. Fortunately it isn’t deep, but he’d definitely have to get Mercedes to look at it tomorrow.

The bed dips behind him, Byleth crawling over it to sit on his left. “Here, let me,” she offers, hands glowing with magic. Felix willfully holds his arm out, letting her warm magic slowly knit his skin back together.

The innkeeper knocks on their door, and Felix goes to retrieve the meager servings of watery soup and stale bread. It’s better than nothing, and it’s _warm,_ something he nor Byleth can complain about. 

They finish their meals in a time that could Ingrid a run for her money, and since Felix doesn’t have any other injuries that need tending to, he turns to Byleth. “Your turn.”

She has a particularly nasty gash on her thigh, which Felix first cleans with a waterlogged cloth and heals with a quick Recover.

“You kept practicing your faith magic,” Byleth comments, shooting him a funny look. She seems calmer now that she’s eaten and mostly healed. 

“Yeah, well, I was leading soldiers at the front,” he shrugs, running a thumb over the raw pink line of newly healed skin. It had always surprised him how soft skin was. “You’re not a general if you can’t take care of your own men.”

She hums in acknowledgment, fingertips skimming her temple again. “I have a few cuts, but nothing to waste your magic on. If you’ll just get the bandages from my bag…” She gestures over to where she’d dropped her things.

Felix retrieves the roll of gauze, handing it to her. As she unrolls a strip, Felix sets about removing his cloak and jacket, rolling down his stirrups and setting his things atop the dresser. The room was getting warmer, and he’d no interest in sweating beside her the entire night.

He pauses when he hears Byleth curse once, looking over his shoulder to see trembling fingers struggling to knot the bandage she has wound around her upper arm. 

Sighing, she holds the bandage out to him, eyes pleading.

He removes his gloves and bandages her up with ease, unrolling a new strip and slipping his dagger from his belt to cut a second strip. 

“That dagger,” she starts, peering down at the handle as he sets it on the bed. “I gave you that, didn’t I? I can’t believe you still have it.”

A blush creeps up his neck. Of course he’d kept it. “No use in buying a new one when I have one that works just fine.”

He doesn’t appreciate the way she watches him as he puts their things away, that stare of hers always so knowing, piercing holes in his every defense. “Lie down,” he tells her. “You need to rest.”

For once, she doesn’t argue with him, exhaustion likely overriding her systems and pulling her under the thin sheets of the bed. 

It’s not long until Felix carefully slides in across from her, though he scoots as far away as possible, laying with his back to her, his heart racing in his chest. Sharing a bed felt so...intimate.

They stay like this for a while, the only sounds filling the room are the crackle of the fire, the steady drumming of rain on the roof, and their quiet breathing. Byleth’s as she tried to sleep, and Felix’s as he tried to calm himself.

He wonders if she can hear the pounding of his heart against his rib cage.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes quietly. “For earlier. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

“It’s okay,” he assures her. “You were frustrated, I get it.” Frankly, he didn’t understand why she didn’t snap like that more often.

“I overcompensated again,” she mutters, prompting Felix to roll around and face her. “I should have brought more people to make this go more smoothly, but things are just so busy at the monastery. I really thought that you and I could handle it alone.”

“You couldn’t have known they were going to meet up with another group,” he reasons. Neither of them could have. If he’d thought the mission would be difficult, he would have never agreed to it in the first place. 

“I know, but I should have taken it into consideration,” she sighs, pursing her lips. “I’ve just been feeling so tired lately, and it’s making it hard to think straight. I’ve only been doing this for two months but...I don’t think I’m cut out to lead, Felix. I can hardly keep Dimitri reigned in, I have Gilbert and Seteth doing my paperwork, and I can’t even rout bandits anymore. Maybe… maybe I’m not cut out to lead this army.”

Now _that_ was absolute bullshit.

“Hey, it’s not your fault that people are asking too much of you. You never asked for any of it, and it definitely isn’t your job to keep that beast of a man on a leash.” She still looks unsure, and Felix isn’t sure what prompts him to hook his finger under her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. “You are, and always have been, a good leader. We’re alive because of everything you’ve taught us. _Dimitri_ is alive because of everything you taught him. And it’s because of you, not Seteth or Gilbert, that we are finally taking our first steps forward in this war. You’re amazing.”

Byleth is silent, gaping at him with such astonishment that Felix blushes, worried that he’d gone too far and said too much. Of course he had, she’d been looking for reassurance, not flowery praise. He’s deeply embarrassed, and is about to apologize when he notices Byleth leaning in. 

Her lips brush his, tentatively the first time as if in question. 

Felix does more than answer, sliding his hand down to her waist and pulling her closer. Her lips are soft against his own, each movement gentle and precise. It’s a nice kiss, one that consumes him warmth.

It’s over as quickly as it’d started, as if both of them had realized what they’d done as they draw back, faces equally red. Byleth places one last, lingering kiss on his jaw before turning back around, drawing the sheets up to her neck. 

“Goodnight, Felix.”

“Goodnight, Byleth.” Felix follows suit, rolling back around. There was absolutely no chance he’d be getting any sleep tonight. The kiss had sent sparks through his veins, and the warmth that had blossomed in his chest had yet to dissipate. 

What would they do now?

You see, Felix had always been interested in Byleth. Not in the way Sylvain was, obviously.

...Not at first.

**Author's Note:**

> \- the next morning -  
> Felix: did it hurt?  
> Byleth: when i got punched in the face? yeah, obviously.  
> Felix:  
> Felix: When you fell...from heaven....


End file.
